Holding On
by flowerinthedistance
Summary: Katniss has a nightmare, she and Peeta have a conversation, and Peeta tries his hardest to hold on. Oneshot. Set just after Peeta returns to District 12 in Mockingjay. [Katniss/Peeta]


Peeta is watering the primroses when he hears her scream. Her house is unlocked, and he finds her on the living room couch, tangled in blankets and soaked in sweat. She writhes under the weight of a nightmare, her eyes squeezed tightly shut and her hands balled into fists.

He hasn't seen her like this since before the war, and he's sure – even with his memory still muddled in places – that it's even worse than it used to be.

"Katniss?" he says softly. He crouches by her side. "Katniss, can you hear me?"

She doesn't respond. He wants to reach out and wrap his arms around her – to hold her, tell her she's safe – but he knows he can't. He might be crossing a line just by being here. All he can do is talk to her, hoping she can at least hear him.

And maybe she can, because minutes later her body goes still and her eyes flicker open.

"Peeta?" she says quietly, but he hears it loud and clear.

"It's ok – you're ok, Katniss," Peeta breathes, helping her sit up. Her eyes are red and visibly sore, and she claws at them with her hands, trying to wipe away more than just tears. She's whispering her little mantra under her breath, repeating it over and over, telling herself who she is, listing all the things she's seen and done.

A cloud seems to lift from her eyes and she slumps back into the cushions, staring up at the ceiling. He sits back, crossing his legs, and watches her apprehensively.

"What?" she bites, bristling under his gaze. His eyes drop to the floor.

"Nothing." But it isn't nothing, so he says, "I just… you scared me there, for a moment."

Softer, she whispers, "Nightmares," and takes a long breath. He nods, but she's not looking at him to see.

It's silent for a while, her staring at the ceiling and him at the ground.

She asks, a little stiffly, how he is. _Small-talk,_ he thinks, and it's almost funny. Maybe Effie's etiquette lessons did teach them something.

"Good," he replies into the ground. "Better."

"Good," she repeats absently, but something heavy lifts from the air.

"Have you called Dr. Aurelius yet?" he asks. It's a gentle push, a test of her boundaries.

She pushes back. "Once. He was happy I called. Said he knew you'd convince me, even when no one else could."

He looks up; she's watching him, reading his reaction. He realises he's seen it before. It's a strategy for combat, one they learned in training for the Games – make a move, wait for a response. Get to know the enemy.

Except they're not, he remembers. Not enemies. Allies.

"That's good." He pauses. "You have people who want to help you, Katniss."

She sighs. Squeezes her eyes shut forcefully. "I know. I'm just not used to the idea of needing help."

"I don't think any of us are," he says thoughtfully. Briefly, he wonders what Haymitch has knocked himself out with today. "We're not any weaker for it though," he tells her firmly. She smiles. It's small and short-lived, but it's there all the same. "What?" he asks.

He watches as she shakes her head. "That's just such a Peeta thing to say." And he doesn't know if he imagines the touch of relief in her voice.

They talk for a bit longer, off and on. Soon, the sun dips below the line of houses and a blanket of darkness falls over the Village. Peeta takes it as his cue to leave; he knows the night isn't a good time for either of them.

Katniss sees him to the door. He steps outside and turns back.

"I'm always around," he tells her, just as he's about to leave. "If you need me."

She looks so small, with the light from inside the house blurring her silhouette at the edges, that she seems in danger of fading away completely. He thinks, fleetingly, that all he wants to do is hold on.

"I know. Me too." She meets his eyes with a steady gaze, looking at him in a way that isn't small at all. "Peeta-"

He pulls her into a hug, not caring about how many lines it crosses anymore. She clings to him, her hands digging into his shoulders and her face hidden in his neck.

They are broken, the both of them. And maybe they always will be. But – at least for now – it feels like they can hold on tight enough to keep from falling apart.

* * *

 **A/N: Thanks for reading! This is something I wrote a couple of years ago and completely forgot about, but somehow it's actually not terrible. It's pretty unlikely that I'll be writing anything else for the Hunger Games anytime soon, but this was a nice change from my usual stuff. Leave a review to let me know what you thought :)**


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